


Rapacious

by OkeyDokeyLoki



Category: Hannibal - Fandom
Genre: Family murder bonding, Hannibal likes it rough, M/M, Mpreg, Murder Husbands, sassy will is sassy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 01:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17519870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkeyDokeyLoki/pseuds/OkeyDokeyLoki
Summary: (Fanfiction.net sucks so I'm posting here instead). Will, despite his gender's natural inclination to breed rather than rear, is capable of carrying children, and the resulting predicament forces him to Become much sooner than previously thought, to Hannibal's delight.





	Rapacious

Will Graham felt every stare burn on his already perspiring skin; he wondered if he should even be at a crime scene.

 

His senses were heightened with fear, every rustle loud as thunderclap, every twitch distracting.

 

He distantly heard Jack Crawford shouting at everyone to leave, and the golden, almost flaming pendulum swung. All he could hear was his heartbeat, quick and consistent.

 

Time tumbled backwards; he, the killer, eyed his two victims as they stood from their crumpled positions to gaze back at him with pure innocence, stripped of the blood that had adorned them moments prior.

 

"I brought them here under the guise of telling them a secret. I smashed their skulls together -" in his mind's eye, he grasped the sides of the victims' heads and smacked them together with as much force as he could muster, "- and they went down. I stab Henry first, through the lung. He is alive long enough to watch me slit Luke's jugular, and I leave no prints or DNA on them during all this. Henry Greene drowns in his own blood, with Luke to follow soon after."

 

Will paused to vomit into a rubber sealable bag, the smell of blood having caused his insides tho somersault. Calmly, he popped a mint into his mouth and analyzed what he saw. "Jack," he called, and within the moment the agent presented himself. "There has to be another body somewhere," Will said urgently.

 

Crawford allowed the FBI to swarm the building once more, and together they trekked outside into the snow and lo and behold, a padlocked shed lay behind the house, almost hidden by the bare trees. Upon being bellowed at, an agent strode up to them and snapped the chains before retreating.

 

The odor of decaying flesh made bile rise in Will's throat, burning him. He took a split-second to gauge whether or not it'd come up or not.

 

He yanked another baggie from his pocket, and expelled the contents of his mostly empty stomach into it. His throat felt torn. Agent Graham thought it best if he didn't consume another mint; it'd be too suspicious.

 

"Why'd you bring a bag?" Jack inquired, eyes narrowing.

 

"One must come prepared," Will replied, smiling and chuckling with more than a little uncertainty.

 

"I guess," Crawford said reluctantly, eyeing him skeptically.

 

The men turned their undivided attention to the corpses, all in various stages of rot. Will's insides flipped and he hoped fervently he wouldn't puke again. "Good God, what was he doing to them?" Crawford asked, appearing slightly unwell, which was quite a significant statement from him.

 

"Can you see how they're arranged? It's a grown-up little boy who wanted to be a little girl. They're dolls." That was all Crawford needed and he went off, like a jousting white knight in for the kill. Will hoped Jack's inquisitive forefinger never pointed at him; it was bad enough what he got up to behind closed doors.

 

So, the scene secured, Crawford drove Will home. He was tired. He was always tired now.

 

A pack of rumpled dogs loped up to greet Special Agent Graham, and Jack Crawford left to go home to his ill wife.

 

Will entered his home, inhaling the pleasant aroma of home, plus an unfamiliar scent. On the table lay an arrangement of some form of meat, tantalizing yet simple. Hannibal had been there.

 

Heart beating quickly enough to rival a mouse's, Will rushed around his house, dogs at his heels. His eyes danced over every conceivable thing, coming to rest on the trash can. The package was still there, concealed by a carefully placed tissue.

 

Paranoid, Will snatched it and sniffed, a rather strange thing to do, but with purpose. He smelt expensive cologne. Will knew instantly that He knew.

 

The dogs whimpered and salivated all over his ankles, wide pink tongues wiping away the sweat in an effort to calm their master and wagging their tails. Will's hands went to rest on their heads, absentmindedly stroking, then one wandered to rest on the gentle slope 'twixt his ribs and pelvis.

 

No one had noticed, it being winter, which required some form of heavy clothing, and he'd made a conscious effort not to instinctually reach for it.

 

Awaiting judgement was tiresome, and Will didn't run on enough sleep as it was. He allowed his dogs onto his bed as he lay down. Will Graham dreamt of antlers.

 

He woke gradually. It was still dark out, and Will rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

 

"Will?" A soft, accented, and warm baritone voice queried. Will covered his abdomen with his comforter. "Yes?" "Why did you hide it from me?" Will dared not touch his midriff now.

 

"Because I know what you've done to people close to me, like Abigail. I didn't want your curiosity to reach it. Lord knows what you did to me when curious." Will's words were frostbitten.

 

The voice ventured closer and Winston growled softly. Will's hand stroked Winston's head; Special Agent Graham believed he might die. "Hush," he whispered gently to the russet dog. Tears stung his eyes. He was exhausted and emotional. "Is it such fantasy that you owe me this one thing?" Graham accused.

 

"Crawford would be suspicious if you wore ill-fitting shirts and declared cravings for horseradish and Miracle Whip atop Twinkies." Will violently retched into the nearest trash can. "Apologies. However, I am right."

 

Will, chest heaving and perspiration dotting his forehead, popped a mint into his mouth. "Look, I'm not saying you're wrong -" the hope of living blossomed within Will, "- I'm only saying that I need you to allow me this one precious thing. Or things."

 

Moonlight glinted off sanguine irises speckled with maroon. "I realize this. Would you deny me the right to be there for you and them, as your mother wasn't?"

 

Tears pricked Graham's eyes and slid down his face. "You have no right to bring her up. She'd be rolling in her grave if she saw me now." Winston rested his head on Will's belly. "Will, this is the last time I'll ask you. Run away with me. When you'll want wild, rough intimacy later on, you'll need me."

 

Will grinned. "What if I want it now, Hannibal?" There was a low chocolatey rumble as Dr. Lecter chuckled. "Well, then. Who am I to deny you such?"

 

* * *

 

The thing hanging above Crawford's head defied description.

 

It wasn't a dark cloud, like normal miserable people attracted.

 

This was a swirling mass of agony, tainting to the soul.

 

Will sat next to him, aware of how much the material of his suit hugged him and wondering if anyone else noticed.

 

Jack didn't, that was for certain.

 

He was far too invested in reciting Bella's eulogy in his head.

 

"I think her last moments were her greatest triumph," Graham opined, slicing open the silence and letting it bleed.

 

"How so?" Crawford mumbled into his palms.

 

"This was the one choice she could make left. Everyone else decided that it was too morbid and too heartbreaking to try, but the cancer is worse. Those people didn't have a choice. She did, and she knew it."

 

"At least she died in her sleep," Crawford agreed, choking on his own words as though they were nettles.

 

Her medicine had ensured that.

 

"Jack, I'm ready to find the Chesapeake Ripper," Will said gently after a time.

 

This brought Jack out of his misery for a brief moment and dragged him into anger.

 

"I want you to be certain. If you're anything less than positive, I'm not going to let you do it. Let some other sorry sap take your place," he snapped.

 

Will sighed, rubbing at a kink in his back. "I've written a will-"

 

"- Don't do this to me now, Will."

 

"- and I want you to read it and learn it. I'm prepared to make the leap Miriam Lass did," the empath continued, with a withered look of sympathy.

 

Jack sat up a bit. "D'you have it on you?"

 

"I do, actually."

 

Crawford narrowed his eyes at Will. "This means you think you'll die."

 

"It's a great possibility. I may have even met the Ripper already. I believe Miriam met them and thus met her end," the special agent countered reasonably.

 

Jack knew he was right, but whenever it was something he didn't want to hear, he often became infuriated or took an excruciatingly long time analyzing what was said.

 

In this case, he became infuriated.

 

"That bastard is the sole reason I haven't retired," he seethed, knuckles paling as he clenched his fists. "You may be resigned about dying, but I'm not going to let you. You get a lead and you call me, damn it."

 

"Oh, I'm far from resigned about it. However, we can't both exist in the field; it's me, or them."

 

"That's so cliché I could barf." Jack growled.

 

"Isn't that how it should be, Jack? You wouldn't let the Ripper live. They wouldn't let you live. It's them or us. I know how little regard you have for the law when it comes to this guy."

 

Crawford nodded begrudgingly.

 

Upon seeing Price, Zeller, and Katz grace the room with their presences, the two stood.

 

"I suppose I have to talk to people," Jack grumbled.

 

"Did you invite Hannibal?" Will asked curiously, taking a sip of some too-sweet and too-cheap lemonade before setting it down with a very displeased expression.

 

"Outside of couple's counseling, he didn't know her-"

 

Will sucked in air subconsciously.

 

"-but I invited him. He's good to have around," Jack continued.

 

"Indeed," Will mumbled in agreement, his fingertips ghosting over his middle for a heartbeat before delving into his pocket.

 

He seated himself again, and Beverly spent not much time deciding where she'd go before sitting beside him.

 

Zeller followed, beside her, and Price beside him, spouting a fact about the Edelweiss flowers at the entrance.

 

Crawford appeared pained to be at the podium, and shuffled through his cards for a few minutes.

 

The doors opened again, and Will forced himself not to look.

 

Clingyness wasn't becoming on anyone.

 

It was Hannibal, of course.

 

Where Crawford had gotten up, Hannibal sat.

 

It was uncomfortable for Will. He didn't wish ill upon Crawford, but knowing Hannibal, ill would be all the man ever knew for some time.

 

"I don't like doing this. Why would I? I am glad to say that I am not accustomed to this, but I think it's fucked up that I have to be here for her when I was supposed to die before her," Crawford began.

 

The audience was stricken silent.

 

"You all knew her to some degree, but her last act of defiance was enough for anyone to see her for who she was. Suicide is ugly to me. Always has been. But in Phyllis's case, it was righteous. A 'fuck you' to God, if you will."

 

The audience felt slightly more inclined to laugh.

 

"So, I'm going to make this short. I'm pissed that she had to go, but at least she got to go out her way."

 

Crawford stepped down, a metaphorical mic drop, and he radiated with the fury he wore like a coat, just as Will wore his fear. His eyes were puffy and red.

 

There were cookies at the reception.

 

Price and Zeller were eager for a distraction from estimating which drugs did the most damage and in what time.

 

Beverly and Will stood next to the refreshment table as Hannibal spoke with Jack, their voices low.

 

"Does the FBI do catering now?" Beverly mused.

 

"The cookies aren't bad. Maybe we should hold funerals for everyone who comes through," Zeller suggested through a mouthful of various kinds of said dessert.

 

Everyone held a collective breath a moment, waiting for him to be roared at for his morbid joke.

 

The window of opportunity passed, and Price giggled hysterically with laughter that had been stifled for too long.

 

Beverly hid a smile behind her hand, and Zeller tried not to choke on his cookies.

 

Then Hannibal arrived with a whoosh of tasteful cologne and peaches, Jack beside him.

 

The moment of mirth was cut down in its prime.

 

Will snatched some of the chocolate chips in order to avoid conversation as politely as he could.

 

He'd had enough interaction. He was beginning to feel the lightning-fast crawl of icy paranoia through his veins.

 

"We have to cut this short; we have to go. They just called in another Ripper murder," Crawford ordered.

 

He seemed to have recovered as much as humanly possible for a man at his wife's funeral.

 

Will shot a scathing look at Hannibal for his uncanny timing, and stuffed some cookies into his suit pockets, to the older man's dismay in favor of possibly the only suit Will owned.

 

Together they followed the group out.

 


End file.
